But this was nothing to do with the job on hand: his thoughts were only the reflection, or the echo, rather, of his mother's often, and usually strongly, expressed opinions. He did not know if she was always right in her judgements; but she and her friend Lady Roddam were women famous for their outspoken and advanced views - they had even been labelled, as republicans by their enemies.
To the devil with advanced views, he told himself: how far are we from the Tower? Suddenly he saw it quite close, squat and square, the stonework pale in the moonlight, and half hidden by the sand dunes at the back of the beach. How had he missed seeing it before? He realized he'd been looking for something dark and shadowy, not thinking of the effect the moonlight would have. Hell! If the French had only a couple of guns and even a sleepy lookout on top of that Tower ...
He pulled the tiller towards him to turn the boat southward, parallel to the beach: they were so vulnerable, even to pistol fire, that he wanted to spot the entrance to the river first, so they could run straight in without delay. At that moment he saw a wide but short band of silver spread inland across the beach like a carpet over the sand: the river, with the moonlight on it. He promptly altered course straight for it.
'Jackson, a cast!' he called as loud as he dare.
'A fathom, sir... five feet... four... four...
' Blast, it was shoaling fast
‘Keep it going.'
'Four feet... four... three...'
Damn, damn - they'd touch in a moment, but they were a good thirty yards from the beach: a long way for the men to haul the boat. He saw that Jackson was dropping the lead line like a boy fishing from the quay: there was not room, need nor time to heave it.
\Four feet:.. four... five... four... five ... a fathom.'
Ramage breathed a sigh of relief: they must have been crossing a sandbank running parallel with the beach. Twenty yards to go and they'd be in the river, which seemed to get narrower the nearer they approached. With this flat sandy coastline there was certain to be a bar across the mouth.
'Four feet, sir... three...'
And this was it.
‘Three... three...'
They might just as well wade the last few yards, hauling the boat along by hand. He was just going to order the men over the side when he remembered the wretched riccio, the prickly sea urchin which looked like a rich brown chestnut husk, and whose spines broke off when they stuck into bare flesh, causing suppuration if not pulled out at once. It was rare to find them on sand; but there'd be small rocks around and they would be covered with them.
'Avast there with that lead, Jackson,' he called, keeping his voice low. 'Lay in on your oars, men. Who are wearing shoes?'
Four or five men answered and he ordered: 'Right, over the side with you and haul the boat up. Watch out for small rocks. The rest of you come aft.'
Their weight in the stern would cock the bow up a little, enabling the men in the water to run the boat farther over the bar before her keel dug into the sand.
'Unship the rudder,' he told Jackson, and jumped over the side.
Leaving the men to haul the boat, he splashed through the last few feet of water and reached the beach on the left bank of the river. As he stepped on to the hard sand at the water's edge his boots squelched; but after three or four paces, beyond where the waves lapped, the sand was so soft that at every step he sank in almost up to his ankles. The beach was steep, and as he looked over to the left he noticed the Tower was out of sight behind the dunes: no prying eyes could see the boat now.
By the time Ramage had walked and scrambled thirty paces he was five or six feet above sea level, with the rounded tops of the dunes still some twenty feet above him, but it suddenly became steeper and as he climbed upwards his feet kicked aside tufts of sharp-spined sea holly. Halfway up the side of the dune he met the first of the waist-high clumps of juniper bushes and rock roses and had to thread his way round them to avoid tearing his clothes.
He reached the top of the dune only to find it was the first of several which extended inland for fifty yards, looking like vast waves, until they dropped down to form one bank of the river curving round behind them.
Ah - now he could just see the top of the Tower: the stonework gleamed in the moonlight and he could see the hard, angular shadows formed by the embrasures. The top of the Tower was so sharply etched against the blue-black night sky he was sure that had there been any sentries he could see them, but there was no sign of movement; nor did there seem to be any cannon poking their muzzles through the embrasures.
Well, he had to know just where the river went. Between him and the next juniper-capped dune was a deep depression, like the trough between two big waves. He began running down the side, but after half a dozen paces his feet sank deep into the sand and the momentum of his body sent him sprawling. Not the place to be chased by cavalry, he thought as he picked himself up, spitting sand from his mouth and slapping his clothes to shake off the worst of it.
As he stood up again it seemed he had suddenly gone deaf: the dune behind deadened all sound of the waves on the beach, and for the first time for many months he could hear nothing connected with the sea: he might be a hundred miles inland. From the top of the next dune Ramage could see a little more of the Tower, and he walked down the side and up to the top of the third and last dune. Several feet below, to his right as he stood with his back to the sea, the river came straight inland for about fifty yards and then turned left to pass in front of him, rushes growing in thick clumps along the banks. It went on for two hundred yards, parallel with the sea, passing within a few yards of the seaward side of the Tower before turning sharply inland again, close against the north wall.
The Tower had been built in a good place, Ramage realized: with the river guarding it on the north and west sides, and the lake beyond covering it to the east, any attackers could approach only along the beaches.
And it was a solid construction, designed like a chessman castle, only square instead of round. From the ground the walls sloped gently inward until just below the embrasures, then sloped outward again for the last few feet, like the nipped-in waist of a woman's dress.
Ramage had seen enough for the moment. How deep was the river? He climbed down the steep bank to the rushes. The fact they grew there at all indicated the water was at worst brackish and ran from the fresh-water lake to the sea. For a second he froze with fear, then realized the sudden movement was a coot or moorhen which streaked out from almost underfoot, flying so low its wings beat the water. Gingerly he walked through the rushes, the water pouring over the tops of his boots, and turned right to follow the river round to its mouth and meet the men with the gig.
Rounding the corner, he found the men had pulled the boat over the bar. Jackson splashed over towards him.
"Where do you want it, sir?'
"Here,' Ramage said, indicating the northern bank. 'Snug it in close among the reeds.'
There was no point trying to hide it under branches of bushes: a pile of juniper among the reeds would be more conspicuous than the boat itself.
Well, there was no time to waste: the charcoal burner's hut mentioned in the Admiral's orders was half a mile southward down the coast and five hundred yards inland, and the sooner they found it the better, although a nagging question kept popping up in his mind.
Ramage splashed over to the men and glanced at the boat. That's fine. I want one of you to act as a sentry up there. The rest can sleep in the boat or very near it.' He indicated the sloping side of the dune. Hand me out a couple of cutlasses... Thank you. Now, come on Jackson.'